Read Online All Hat by Brad Smith - Free Book Online

light out. He finished a take-out coffee sitting in the Caddy and then got out, strapped his belt on, and walked to the next house in line. Doc was sitting on a bundle of shingles, looking sleepily across the open field to the north.
    â€œMorning,” Ray said.
    â€œRay.”
    â€œWhat’re you doing?”
    â€œMeditating.”
    â€œWhat’re you meditating on?”
    Doc stood up, shook off his lethargy like a wet dog after a swim. “I’m meditating on gettin’ this motherfucker shingled, gettin’ paid, and gettin’ laid. That’s what.”
    â€œWell, you’re a spiritual sonofabitch, I’ll give you that.”
    Ray walked to the truck, pulled down an extension ladder, propped it against the house, ran it up to the eave. Neil arrived, and the three of them spent the next half hour carrying bundles up to the roof. They were just starting to shingle when Pottsy showed up, driving his mother’s Jetta.
    â€œWhere the fuck you been?” Neil asked.
    â€œI had a late night,” the kid said. “Went to see Urban Shocker in concert.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThey’re this awesome rap group.”
    â€œShit,” Neil said.
    It was a cool October day, a good day for working. Steve Allman was out pricing new jobs, and it was just the three of them shingling. The kid was dragging his ass, and Neil kept after him. By noon, when they quit for lunch, the house was a quarter finished.
    They sat on the shingle pallets to eat. Pottsy hadn’t brought a lunch, and he drove to the corner store and came back with Fritos and root beer.
    â€œYou kids and your health foods,” Doc said.
    Ray finished his sandwich and lay back on the pallet in the sun, stretching his back muscles. He was beginning to feel pretty good, making some money, getting in shape. Of course, just being able to come and go as he pleased was reason enough to feel good these days. What he might do with the rest of his life was another matter, something he was going to have to think about, but not today. Hell, he had houses to shingle.
    â€œHow can you listen to that rap shit?” he heard Neil ask the kid.
    â€œHow can you listen to country and western?” the kid asked back.
    â€œCountry and western is real music.”
    â€œWell, rap is my music,” the kid said. “It’s poetry; I can relate to it.”
    â€œYeah,” Neil said. “You’re a white kid from Middleburg. You can relate.”
    â€œUrban Shocker is white.”
    â€œShit, that’s even worse,” Neil said. “White kids pretending they’re black. Everybody in the world wants to be something they’re not. White kids wanna be black; black kids wanna be white. Poor folks wanna be rich.”
    â€œYou wanna be smart,” Doc added.
    â€œFuck you.”
    Doc laughed and looked at Pottsy. “You gotta listen to jazz, kid. Black, white, it doesn’t matter. Jazz is the only original music ever to come out of North America. Ever.”
    â€œWhat about rock and roll?” Pottsy asked.
    â€œFuck rock and roll.”
    The kid finished his Frito lunch and walked over to throw the trash into the iron dumpster where he stowed the shingle remnants. Walking back, he looked at Ray, reclined on the shingles, eyes closed, hands clasped behind his head for a pillow.
    â€œWhat about you, Ray? What do you listen to?”
    â€œDepends on what you’re doin’,” Ray said without opening his eyes. “If you’re traveling, listen to Hank Williams. If you’re lonely, listen to Hank Williams. If you’re having problems with a woman, then you better listen to Hank Williams. The rest of the time—well, I’d recommend Hank Williams.”
    Steve Allman drove in then, got out of the truck, took his tool belt from the back, put it on, and walked over. Ray raised himself to a sitting position.
    â€œSteve,” Doc said. “What kind of